


Beskar Heart: The Kitchen Conversations (Epilogue 3)

by The Corellian Pirate (Turhaya_Hundteth)



Series: Beskar Heart [4]
Category: Guy Ritchie Films - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Origin Story, Casual Sex, Corellia (Star Wars), Cultural Differences, Dark Comedy, Easter Eggs, Easter Eggs - Star Wars, F/M, Friendship, Gangsters, Guy Ritchie - Freeform, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Love, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Marriage, Non-Graphic Smut, Rancor, Relationship(s), Resol'nare, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Smut, Spotchka, Star Wars References, Star Wars Sex Jokes, Storm Trooper, Tatooine, Violence, Wookie - Freeform, Wookiees (Star Wars), the empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turhaya_Hundteth/pseuds/The%20Corellian%20Pirate
Summary: This is the third epilogue to ‘Beskar Heart’.It is a transcript of a recorded conversation between the Mando, the Pirate, the Dropper, the Triggerman… and The Kid… which occurred on Offmap prior to the crew departing for the final time. A touch of the Guy Ritchie-esque on this one, in homage to the Gentleman's Lad...Explicit Language Warning. Adult Content.As an epilogue, if you haven't read the story, then no doubt the epilogue will make very little sense, and if you do intend to read the story, then be warned that you are heading in to certain spoiler territory.
Relationships: Undisclosed Relationship(s)
Series: Beskar Heart [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707496
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. The Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> “I don’t have a problem with imperfection, and I think it’s very important to be imperfect. Because perfect is an excuse not to do anything, as far as I can understand.”
> 
> \- Guy Ritchie
> 
> In honour of The Gentlemen's Lad from Hertfordshire.

_“At some point, the real character’s going to shine through. But that’s a good thing, right?”_

_\- Aladdin (2019)_

***

_'Transcript recording. Identify: Ewok, Beskar, Princess, and Dick Breath. Offmap cabin. Post Moff Gideon’s death.'_

Tur: Testing... OK, it’s recording properly.

Din: ‘Dick Breath’ is your code name for Mayfeld?

Tur: I set the parameters early on. I could update it, but… it still makes me laugh.

Din: Come here, Pirate…

***Movement. Kissing**********

Tur: Easy, Beskar. We’ve got guests coming.

Din: I know, so why are you recording _now_ ….

***Kissing********

Din: …if we’re expecting company…

***Kissing*****************

Din: …any minute?

***Kissing. Movement*************************

Tur: Mmm… It’s not for Razor Crest Radio.

Din: Then what?...

***Kissing. Breathing. Movement***************************

Tur: I’ll tell you when they get here. Which will be soon…

***Kissing*********

Din: I hope not…

***Kissing*****************

***KNOCKING******

Tur: Put your lid on. And you’d better control that.

Din: Then stop touching it and get the door.

***Footsteps**************

Tur: We good with the bucket?

Din: Go.

***Bolt scraping****

***Door opening****

***WIND AND RAIN*******************

Mayfeld: Let us in! It’s fucking freezing!

Tur: Leave your boots on the porch!

***WIND AND RAIN******

***Thumping. Movement***********

***WIND AND RAIN****************************

***Door closing*****

***Bolt scraping****

Cara: Holy hell! Does it always rain like this on Offmap?

Tur: No, but every now and then the other moon comes close in its orbit, and we get these storms.

Mayfeld: It’s fucking madness out there. I’m frozen solid.

Tur: Go and stand next to the stove fire. Storms should clear up in a day or two.

Din: We’ve got time to sit it out. Just so you’re aware, Tur’s recording.

Mayfeld: Inky’s always recording. What’s new?

Cara: Only you still get bothered by shit like that, Din. Mayfeld’s right, it’s freezing. Thanks for the civilian clothes and cold weather gear, Tur. The Clan never ceases to amaze.

Tur: No problem. The cold gets hard to handle here, and it’s hard to relax in combat gear.

Mayfeld: Yeah, I feel better not thinking about fighting after all the crap we just went through. Still weird seeing Tin Can without the beskar.

Cara: Yeah, a Mando in pyjamas! Who’d have guessed?

Din: Mandalorian custom would normally dictate I wear full armour around you, even in my own house, but this is Offmap.

Cara: Meaning?

Din: The whole rock is uncharted and defended, so it should be safe.

Tur: _And?_

Din: … It’s an Old Clan house.

Tur: Correct. Wearing armour tells your guests they’re unwelcome. Clan relax around each other, and there’s always food on the table. Speaking of which, help yourselves. It’s just simple stuff – bread, meat and fruit. Broth is on the stove.

Mayfeld: Shit yeah, I’m starving.

Tur: Spotchka is in the jugs. Hard liquor and drugs are in the lock cabinet over there.

Cara: Lock cabinet?

Tur: Code is one-one-one-one. Easy to remember, even when hammered.

Cara: Why bother?

Din: The Kid. He opens everything.

Mayfeld: Can I see him?

Tur: I just got him to sleep. If he’s still awake, see if you can get him down again.

Mayfeld: OK.

Cara: This is so funny.

Din: What?

Cara: This is a normal house. We’re all sitting around in comfortable clothes, with dinner and good company. The fire is warm, and there’s a baby. It’s like…

Tur: Family?

Cara: Yeah. An actual _home_.

Tur: As far as I’m concerned you _are_ family, but it still feels crazy to have the cabin full of people … and to not be on the move, or plotting something…

Cara: Or fighting…

Din: Or dying…

Tur: …How’d it go, Rusty?

Mayfeld: He’s passed out. Left him there. Give me a plate.

***Movement. Clinking*******

Cara: What’s with the journal and papers on the table?

Tur: I’ve picked up some more stuff. Written a few more things.

***Paper rustling******

Cara: Who’s ship is this transcript from?

Tur: My brother’s, I think…. Mayfeld, chuck me some bread, mate… Thanks.

***Movement. Clinking. Sounds of eating************

Mayfeld: Hey, Mando. Pour me a spotchka, while your filling up your little sippy-straw cup.

Din: Anyone else?

Tur: Yeah.

Cara: Yes, please. And a plate. I feel bad eating in front of you, Din, but I’m hungry.

Din: I ate earlier, and I’m used to it.

***Movement. Sounds of eating******************

Cara: Tur?

Tur: Yeah?

***Paper moving****

Cara: Did… did you really try and drink yourself to death?

***Silence*********

Mayfeld: What? Gimme that!

***Paper being snatched***

Tur: Not really. I was just miserable, and when I get started, I don’t know how to stop.

Din: You’ve been a lot better lately.

Tur: True.

Mayfeld: Shit! No wonder you never talk about this. I knew it must have been brutal, but fuck… You’re a real asshole, Tin Can.

Din: I know.

Tur: That’s kind of what I wanted to talk about tonight, and why I’m recording.

Mayfeld: You wanted to talk about Din being a giant dick hole, or your suicidal tendencies?

Din: Not funny, Mayfeld.

Tur: Look… There’s things we haven’t ever talked about… and The Kid? He’s fifty years old, and by the time he’s able to understand who Din Djarin is – who his father is – we might all be long dead. We don’t know how many years it will take him to grow up. Maybe another fifty?

Cara: That’s been crossing my mind a lot lately. We have to complete the mission in our lifetime, or there will be no one left to take over the job.

Din: Something I’m acutely conscious of too. How does the recording relate to this?

Tur: We record our stories for The Kid. If we get him home, it will tell his people about what he’s been through. When he is old enough to understand, he’ll have a record of his father, and what you’ve done for him.

Cara: That’s a really good idea.

Tur: Thanks. I’ve got very little to remember my parents by, but thankfully I see them in my brother, and hear their stories from my Clan. You’re not so lucky, Din – you’ve got nothing. I want The Kid to have something, and not just some abstract heirloom. I want him to understand who you really were. You know, a proper story.

Cara: Looking at some of this stuff, I don’t know if it’s appropriate. You’ve still got the Razor Crest Radio transcripts in here.

Tur: Exactly. There’s stuff that needs to come out, but there’s definitely stuff that’s missing, and I thought rather than just me writing my own viewpoint in a journal, I should get all of our voices captured.

Din: I agree. It’s a good idea. Not just for The Kid. I’ve been thinking about what Bera said to us before we picked up Cara. He spoke of an enemy that no one believes exists. Cara and Han are going to start the process of waking people up to the danger, but I think if something happens to us, people should know what went on with the children and the hell machine. People need to know what Gideon was. They need to know what the remnants of the Empire are up to.

Tur: See? I’m not as stupid as I look! Since it’s pissing rain tonight, I figured a nice, cosy chat around the kitchen table would be a good way to start settling in for a few days. I don’t know about you lot, but after that shit with Gideon, I need a break.

Cara: The baby needs a break. A few days at home would do him some good. Once you take off again, Din…

Din: I know. We may never come back. You’re right - I’ve always wanted the child to have a proper home, and you know I can’t give that life to him. At least he can have a few days now.

Tur: Your hair still smells of Bacta fluid, you death dodger. You need a few days yourself.

Mayfeld: Me too. Unlike you twerps, I haven’t really experienced normality since I was working Ran’s crew, and Mando left me in the clink.

Cara: True. We’ve been on the move since we broke you out of there, and I wouldn’t call being stuck in a cell with Xi’an and Burg ‘normal’.

Tur: And… there’s another reason I’m recording… why we’re here talking…

Din: What?

Tur: If we’re all going our separate ways soon, we better say what’s gotta be said to each other now.

Mayfeld: That’s fucking morbid.

Cara: But it’s true.

***Silence*******


	2. The Creed and Code

_“It should be clear by now that whatever you and your friends think I am… I am not it.”_

_\- King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)_

***

Cara: One thing we need to talk about, Mando, is that helmet.

Din: What about it?

Cara: I know it’s important, and you’ve explained enough to understand you won’t be Mandalorian if you remove it, but I’m still confused about all the rules.

Mayfeld: What happens to you if you take it off?

Din: Mandalorian is a Creed. A religious way of life. If my helmet is removed, or I stop being a Mandalorian for any reason, I lose my Mandalorian soul. I can’t travel to the afterlife.

Mayfeld: Shit, I didn’t know that. No wonder you’re so touchy about the lid.

Cara: I still think it’s strange he’s allowed to show the galaxy his dick, but not his face.

***Laughter*********

Din: That’s not funny.

Mayfeld: Sure it is! Everyone else shows their face, and keeps their privates covered up, and you’re the exact opposite.

Din: I don’t go around showing everyone my dick!

Tur: No, but everyone in this room has seen it.

Din: When?

Cara: The hot pools.

Din: I… forgot about that…

***Laughter**********

Tur: Relax. _Live while you’re alive_ , remember?

Din: Bloody Pirate culture.

Tur: You’re learning, Mando. You’ll keep.

Mayfeld: All this Code and Creed crap. I’m sick of you fuckers arguing over it.

Tur: We don’t argue, Mayfeld. We correct each other... You explain.

Din: Why me?

Tur: Verbal target practice. I’ll shut up.

Mayfeld: That’s a first.

Tur: Fuck you.

Cara: Yeah, shut up, Rusty. I’ve been wanting to hear about this. Considering you won’t let me save your life, I think you at least owe me an explanation of why this Resol’nare is so important. Go on, Tin Can. _Tell Me_.

***Laughter*********

Din: Shit…

***

I’m not like Turhaya. I don’t like to talk for too long, so I’ll try and keep this short.

I’ll start with the Resol’nare and my Creed, not just because it is the closest to my heart, but because I can then explain where it differs to the Old Clan Code a little easier.

The Mandalorian creation myth tells of the fight between Kad Ha’rangir, the god of war, and Arasuum, the god of stagnation. Kad’Haringir is always keeping idleness at bay. The great sin of the Mandalorian warrior is inactivity. We fear no pain, no matter how great, except for the loss of our Mandalorian soul. Being nothing.

The Resol’nare, the ‘Six Actions’, are the central tenets of Mandalorian life. They tell us what it means to be Mandalorian. Those who do not follow the Resol'nare are ‘dar'manda’. Nothing. Someone who does not have a Mandalorian soul and can therefore not travel to the ‘Manda’ – the afterlife.

Dar’manda is the worst punishment of all. It is the responsibility of each Mandalorian to ensure they act in a way which preserves their soul, and we do this through the Resol’nare.

We teach Mandalorian children a rhyme to help them learn the Six Actions:

Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,  
Ara'nov, aliit,  
Mando'a bal Mand'alor—  
An vencuyan mhi.

If you’re like Tur, and are terrible at Mando’a, roughly translated to Basic it means:

Education and armour,  
Self-defense, our tribe,  
Our language and our leader—  
All help us survive.

The First Action is education, and demands we raise our children as Mandalorians. Being Mandalorian is the priority above all. Mandalorian existence. Ensuring the next generation ensures the survival of our people. For adult Mandalorians, it is also considered shameful to be ignorant of your heritage and culture. You must understand what it is to be Mandalorian, and you must _be_ Mandalorian.

The Second Action is armour. It is the one which dictates I cannot remove my helmet. When a Mandalorian takes on the helmet, they forego their previous identity and become like pure snow. Blank and unblemished. We call this ‘cin vhetin’. A fresh start.

The helmet protects our identity, our body, and defines us anew as children of Mandalore. My helmet protects my soul. It is the reflection of my life’s work. A symbol of my status as a warrior, and a reminder of everything I have survived and achieved. I am willing to die for my helmet because it represents me, as much as it defines me.

If I remove my helmet in front of others, or if another removes it from me, I become dar’manda. The only exceptions are Tur and The Kid as my family. Tur and I are vowed as one, and as part of me, she is the only one in existence who can remove the helmet. But she prefers not to touch it when she isn’t saving my life.

The Third Action is combat to defend one’s self and one’s Tribe. Both light and dark are equally important. There is no cycle without Kad Ha’rangir, the first god. Only in the path of destruction and death, can new life form. Duality is woven into the very fabric of the universe itself. As a Mandalorian, we are both hunter and prey, and we must embrace both sides of our nature.

For Mandalorians, single combat is the highest honour there is. We settle everything by combat, even leadership disputes. Dying a warrior’s death is desired by all who walk the Way. Weapons are also part of my religion, and armoury is a sacred art. Cara will no doubt remember the trip to the covert and would understand the honoured place our Armourer holds in my Tribe.

The Fourth Action is Tribe. I must provide for my Tribe and look after their physical well-being. Much like the first tenant, this shows the station of Mandalorian the respect it deserves. It is why I worked so hard a bounty hunter.

The Fifth Action is language. To speak Mando’a. It is the reason I am insisting Tur learn. It is culturally expected, and it is prudent for me to practice. It also helps me abide by the first tenent in remembering my culture and history as a Mandalorian.

The Sixth Action is to rally to our leader, the great Mand’alor, when called to fight. Part of the reason I am so keen to see the Dark Sabre back in the hands of House Vizsla.

The Old Clan have seven mandates to their Code. But the application of Code is vaguer and more complex than the Mandalorian Resol’nare.

It is for the Clan Leader to ultimately make decisions on its interpretation, allow exceptions, and administer justice. Severity is also considered by the Clan Head in each case. Bera said this keeps the Code ‘living’, and always applicable to the circumstances of the current era.

Clan are usually not subjected to brutal punishments, but unfortunately for War Dogs, most major Code violations are dealt with by immediate death. Your service to the fight comes at the price of higher scrutiny and brutal punishment for transgressions. In some cases, the Clan Head will cut your throat himself, and drink your blood in front of the rest of the crew. As it is with many fleets, while in his service, his orders are also law.

The flip side is any War Dog has a higher standing within Old Clan society, and they are given certain courtesies and privileges not extended to others. It is dishonourable for a War Dog to abuse this power, but it is also expected that at certain times, they _will_ exercise it brutally. Training young Dogs is a rare example of where power plays and savagery are expected among their own. If you ask Tur how many of her scars were inflicted during her younger years on crew, you will probably be alarmed at the answer.

The seven mandates of the Code are: ‘clan above all’, ‘each’s own master’, ‘blood for blood’, ‘fight for right’, ‘tread ever lightly’, ‘pride in endeavour’, and ‘heed the gods’.

‘Clan above all’ speaks for itself. Clan bond is the highest law. It also elevates the position of Clan Leader to undisputed and indispensable. This law is compatible with the Resol’nare, as Mandalorians also make our people our priority.

The only time this would conflict, is if Mandalorians and Old Clan became enemies. It has never happened before, and we hope it never happens in the future, otherwise we may have to kill each other.

‘Each’s own master’ guarantees the individual rights over their own freedom. That freedom ensures Tur’s right to retire. That right extends to their own soul, being able to walk away from a vowed bond, or even take their own life. Most Corellians are free-willed, and the Clan are no different.

While this is not in direct conflict with the Resol’nare, it is not aligned with the way Mandalorians think. I need to respect Tur’s right to freedom and expect her to act in a way that assumes it. Tur needs to respect that Mandalorian marriages are permanent, and she cannot walk away.

‘Blood for blood’ doesn’t need explaining, since you saw Tur dispatch Xi’an. If you cross the Clan, if you attempt to take their lives, they have the option to kill you without guilt. For War Dogs who have Striped, this becomes an obligation with sworn enemies.

‘Fight for right’ compels the Old Clan to protect the vulnerable, and demands that when they go into battle, they do so with a clear conscious.

Both these last two laws fit with the Third Action of self-defence. However, ‘fight for right’ may see me engaging where I would normally refrain. I’m happy to follow through with this obligation as a War Dog, since it does not conflict with Creed, and helps me hone my combat skills. Target practice.

‘Tread ever lightly’ compels Clan to not fall to greed, and to ensure that the footprint they leave on any planet is gentle. It is a law that most Clan take very much to heart, and they incorporate it into their daily lives. They reuse, recycle, and waste very little.

Greed and temptation are the vices of Arasuum, and so this Code requirement fits well with my own culture in one way. But Clan consider the Mandalorian Fourth Action selfish when it is exercised without restraint. Bera has explained that generosity and charity are the antidotes to this.

‘Pride in endeavour’ tells Pirates to do their best at everything they attempt, from building bombs to parenting, which is why Tur dotes on The Kid so much. Only through dedication in our work do we make life better for our Clan.

Mandalorians have no such tenent, but always strive for perfection in all we do, and I have no doubt I will be able to meet this obligation.

Lastly we have ‘Heed the gods’. Although it would seem to conflict with my own beliefs, thankfully Bera interprets it to mean that I should heed _my own gods_. Old Clan very much believe in finding their own spiritual connection, and at any rate, Bera respects my right to remain Mandalorian as ‘each’s own master’. For Clan, ‘heeding the gods’ also means meditation and reflection, and this fits culturally for me, because Mandalorians value these practices too.

Culturally, there’s some cross over. Mandalorians love good food and drink, much like Pirates, except we like our food spicier and our drinks less potent. Both cultures appreciate technology and combat, although Mandalorians are a proper warrior culture, which is why we are much better at fighting. The Corellian ship-lust gives them the edge in a few areas of technical capabilities.

Socially, there’s a not a lot of differences in a broad sense, because we both have very strong and forceful people. To put it colloquially, both cultures are rough. But interpersonal etiquette is not so easy to navigate, and Tur and I make a lot of mistakes. That is, we tend to say a lot of things which the other culture would find offensive. Me for my lack of empathy and humour, and Tur for her lack of civility and tact.

So, while you may think we argue, Mayfeld, we’re simply in constant training. And you know Tur never shuts up, so that’s nearly all the time. I correct her, because I want her to learn my ways and help me preserve my culture. She corrects me because I annoy Bera.

***

Cara: I thought you said you wouldn’t talk for long?

***Laughter*******

Cara: That was an eyeopener. There’s a lot of your habits and weird decisions that make a lot of sense to me now. The attachment to the helmet. Always wanting to shoot your way out. The obsession with work.

Mayfeld: Yeah, Tur’s craziness makes a little more sense too. ‘Tread ever lightly’ – that’s why you hoard ship parts?

Tur: Absolutely.

Cara: I’m amazed at how well your cultures fit together. They look so different from the outside. You two are so opposite sometimes, but I see the similarities too.

Din: Two sides of the same chit.

Mayfeld: Fucking riddle talk.

***Laughter*******

Tur: He’s lucky none of this is new information to me.

Cara: How so?

Din: Cara, you struggled to leave me to die when I was still conscious and able to object. When the Razor Crest crashed, I was out for five days.

Tur: It was hard to watch you fight to live, even though you were a complete stranger. But it had to be done, and I had to get creative and trust to the gods you were going to pull through. Especially with hardly any med gear working.

Din: I always wanted to know how you stopped me suffocating.

Tur: It should probably stay a Corellian secret.

Cara: Why?

Tur: It’s… disgusting.

Mayfeld: _You_ think something is disgusting? You’re the most revolting of us all.

Tur: You won’t like it.

Din: Now I’m worried. What did you do to me?

Tur: OK… You know your cup? How do you think I figured out a tube could fit under the visor?

Mayfeld: You used a tube to get air in? That’s not disgusting…

Cara: Oh no…

Tur: Yeah…

Cara: _Oh, that’s revolting!_

Tur: I told you. I didn’t have any time to do anything else. He was dying.

Mayfeld: What? What are Din and I missing?

Tur: I didn’t use the tube to get the air in…

Cara: _She used the tube to get the vomit out!_

Tur: And blood…

Din: Mayfeld and I are still missing something.

Tur: No med tech?... Had to do it manually...

Mayfeld: Oh no way!

***Revolted noises. Laughter******************

Tur: Yep. Had to suck it out. Wouldn’t drain on its own…. It was too… thick.

***Revolted noises. Laughter****************************************************

Cara: I think I’m about to lose my dinner.

Tur: Chumani! What are you complaining about? I threw up three times myself getting the job done.

Mayfeld: That’s probably the grossest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve listened to you have sex.

Tur: It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, but it was pretty fucking bad. And I’m a blood-drinker.

Din: I’m… impressed. And grateful.

Tur: You can thank me later.

Mayfeld: Of all the crazy stuff you’ve done for him, this has to be the worst.

Din: And that’s what she was willing to do when she didn’t know me. You should see what she’s willing to put in her mouth now.

***Laughter*****************************************

Cara: _Mando!!_

Mayfeld: And out comes the Wampa in him…

Tur: Holy crap… are you actually _practising dirty jokes_?

Din: Yes. Bloody Pirate culture.

***Laughter******************


	3. The Shadow Fight

_“Do you know what nemesis means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by a ‘orrible cunt… me.”_

_\- Snatch (2000)_

***

Tur: Baby, NO! Put down mumma’s knife!

Din: _That’s not a toy!_ Do _not_ levitate that! Come here…

***Cooing. Giggling***********

Mayfeld: Fuck! Where did he even come from?

Tur: Now you understand the locks. I’ll get the box of control knobs…

Din: The noise we were making must have woken him…. You’re such a little pest, Kid.

***Cooing. Giggling**************************************************

Cara: Aw, Din! He loves you!

Din: Love at a price.

Mayfeld: Yeah but look at his delighted little face.

***Gurgling. Giggling*********************************************

Cara: It’s like the bucket is a giant control knob.

***Rattling*******

Tur: Here, bubba. Play with these…. Come to mumma…

***Cooing. Giggling***********

Din: I’m going to miss having help when we’re out on our own again.

Mayfeld: Oh, shit yeah! You’re doomed! Remember that morning he ran off with your helmet on the Triv? You were all smug because you beat the fuck out of me the day before, and the next morning I wake up to you screaming your head off in the next room.

Cara: I have never heard Din freak out like that before.

Mayfeld: I learned three things that day.

Cara: Yeah?

Mayfeld: Firstly, why those dirty bastards kicked us off the Trivium. Those walls aren’t anywhere near as thick as they should be.

***Laughter********

Mayfeld: Second, that freaking kid is invisible _._

Cara: I swear the three of us chased him down for an hour.

Mayfeld: All I kept hearing was giggling and tiny footsteps, but I never saw him once.

Tur: Little bugger thought it was a game. _You’re such a cheeky little shit!_

***Cooing. Giggling****************************

Cara: He looked so cute when I finally caught him. Had the helmet on, but it’s so big, it covered his whole body. It looked like the beskar was running around on its own.

***Laughter*******

Din: When I received the camtono of beskar as payment for the job, the client said it was such a large payment for such a small quarry. Now I know how important The Kid is, I am starting to think I was underpaid.

***Gurgling. Cooing******

Cara: You were underpaid. He’s way too much trouble. But he does have a talent for saving your life.

Tur: Oi… Watch this…

***Silence*********************

Cara: Holy…

Mayfeld: No way…

Din: He’s learnt to lift them all at once.

***Silence**********************

Tur: Such a good boy! Put them down now…

***CLACKING**********************

***Giggling. Gurgling*********

Din: He still hasn’t figured out how to get them back in the box yet.

Tur: I’ll pick them up. Mayfeld, you wanted to hold him. Here…

***Cooing. Giggling***********

Mayfeld: How you doin’, you stinky little Womp Rat?

***Gurgling. Cooing****************

Tur: I have no idea how you handled four weeks on the run with him, Cara… You’re tougher than you look, and that’s saying something…

Cara: Thanks. It wasn’t easy, and so much happened… That thing on Socorro…

Din: Wait. You didn’t tell me about any incidents with The Kid.

Tur: Yeah, well…

Din: _You know?_ Why does _she_ know, and I don’t, Cara?

Cara: Relax, Mando. We just thought with all the stuff going on, we’d rather not worry you about it.

Mayfeld: Is this the result of one of your little girl-talks on the Crest?

Cara: Of course.

Tur: Anyway, it’s in the past, so it isn’t important.

Din: Not important? _I’ll_ decide on importance when it comes to The Kid, thank you very much… _wife…_

Mayfeld: (Ohhh shit…)

Cara: (She’ll make him pay for that…)

Tur: Relax, everyone. _I’m going to let it slide._ I’ve learnt from Cara, that when you know you’re right, you’re best to just put your money where your mouth is, and not argue.

Din: Is that so? Care to put your money where your big mouth is now, Dog?

Tur: Let’s do it, Mando. Twenty says at the end of Cara’s story, _nothing will have changed_ , you grumpy motherfucker.

Din: Done. Go on, Dune. _Tell Me_. What did you do to my child?

Cara: Din, you need to remember when this happened, I thought you were dead, and The Kid was now in my care. I made decisions like I would if he was my own, because as far as I was concerned, he was _my child_ …

***

I needed money, and I thought the Mandalorian was dead.

It had been three weeks, and I knew Din wouldn’t simply abandon the child. I assumed he was gone, and the baby was now permanently in my care.

However, unlike Din, I wasn’t here on Offmap where it was safe. I was out there in the open with the most sought-after little prize in the entire galaxy. Since the heat was off the Razor Crest, the attention of the Imps turned to finding me and The Kid.

I was on the run nearly the entire time.

This posed a very real problem. I had to feed The Kid, and we needed funds to keep moving. But ‘laying low’ and ‘finding work’ don’t exactly go together. I was going to have to show myself to someone, somewhere, eventually.

I couldn’t risk going back to Greef and wanted to avoid Nevarro as much as possible. Sorgun would have been too hot, and people knew I’d been there. Kuiil was dead. I was alone. Just me and The Kid.

Prize fighting had always been an easy way to make a living, but the backwater matches I was used to weren’t going to provide the kind of funds I needed. If I was going to make some serious credits, I had to fight in bigger fights.

That meant finding a shadowport – somewhere I knew there would be a lot of illegal trade, and dirty deals going on. Those are the places that you find the big underground fights that attract the hard gamblers.

The type of people who gamble on these fights, aren’t your Canto Casino set. Despite them all being highly dangerous, they fear both the New Republic and the Imperial remnants. Much like the Razor Crest, these punters like to keep off all the grids.

Fights are as brutal as the patrons. With no rules, most fights end up going to the death. What’s worse, if the fight didn’t kill you, with all the fixing and scamming going on, you were likely to get killed anyway.

With very little choice in the matter, I ended up getting a transport to Socorro.

Thanks to Maz Kanata, all the smugglers and underworld heavies knew about the shadowport there. The fights there were some of the biggest, and most brutal, and drew huge crowds. Droid death matches were a particular favourite of the locals.

In the Socorro fight game, if you want to make any decent money, eventually you have to deal with a fight manager known only as ‘Zee’. Everyone knows that Zee’s fights are fixed, you just never knew which way she had fixed them. She was just as prone to having her own fighters take a dive, and only she and her close associates knew exactly which fighter was going down, and in which round.

But sometimes in the fighting game, you have to deal with people you’d rather not, and you have to do things which compromise your ethics. Still, if it meant keeping The Kid safe, a little duplicity and lack of ethics among those who are highly unethical themselves, was a very small price to pay.

The first day, I started with the small fights. You know me - it didn’t take me long to make a name for myself, and for some reason I became a crowd favourite.

I drew the attention of Zee, and the next thing I know, I’m sitting down at a table with her in a cantina later in the night. She wants to me take a dive for one of her fighters. Seems she thought that my success and standing with the local crowd would make for an unexpected loss. Zee said she would make it worth my while and offered an amount much larger than the fight purse.

They say you should be very wary of anyone who owns a Rancor.

Did you know Jabba the Hutt’s Rancor could swallow a Gamorrean guard whole? That monster could gulp one of those squealing porkers down in under thirty seconds. Really easy way to kill someone and dispose of the body at the same time, and the New Republic aren’t about to go sifting through Rancor shit to try and find people’s remains.

Zee had a huge Rancor, and it had apparently developed a healthy taste for prize fighters. It was the one threat which kept everyone in line, big and small players alike.

But, like I said, I needed money. So, I agreed…

The fix was in, bets were being placed, and the next night the fight was on. The arena was packed. I remember the noise of the crowd. The different languages being shouted. The smell of sweat, blood and dust. The weird quality of the light…

I was supposed to go down in the third round. I was supposed to let him knock me out. I don’t know where Zee got her fighter from, but this guy was useless. One shot on the chin and the soft bastard went straight down.

Zee was furious. She had a lot of rich, ruthless, and angry associates who had failed to make their expected profits from the rigged fight. Mostly Trandoshans, who were not only angry that they’d lost on her tip, but that a group of Wookiees (who are the Trandoshan’s ancestral enemies) had made a large amount of money betting on _me_.

I wasn’t dead yet, but I was very close to being in the shit. The Rancor shit.

But rather than throw me to the beast, Zee thought she might try and use me to make some of her money back. Instead of having me killed, she took the prize purse… and The Kid.

If I didn’t throw the next fight as ordered, I knew they would kill him.

To make it much harder for me to knock out her fighter by accident, Zee put in her very best – one of the Trandoshans. You know those big reptilian bastards are supposed to be some of the toughest and strongest in the galaxy. And I knew, after losing all his credits to the Wookiees, he’d be out for my blood.

I had my work cut out for me.

If I knocked him out, I was getting fed to the Rancor. If I tapped out before the third, I was getting fed to the Rancor. If _he_ knocked _me_ out, I was probably going to die right there in the ring… and my body would get fed to the Rancor.

But I had to stay alive, at all costs. The Kid was going to be killed, and if he wasn’t killed, I had little doubt Zee would give him to the Imps for the right price.

All this, and a whole lot more, was running through my mind as I stepped into the ring that night.

The crowd were going crazy. Those lights. That smell…

The fight started slow. Pacing, manoeuvring, a couple of jabs. We were testing each other, you know? Then, he landed a hook on me that was so brutal, it knocked me off my feet.

The rest of the fight was a bit of a blur. I kept taking hits, and I kept swinging. I wasn’t fighting to make it to the third round anymore. I was fighting to stay alive.

Arms that feel like lead.

Feet that can’t stop dragging.

Swelling tightening the skin around your eyes.

The distinct, nausea-inducing taste of blood in your mouth, and the feeling of lose teeth.

The smell of blood, not in your broken nose, but right up in your sinuses in a place you didn’t even know existed.

That half-stabbing, half-aching pain of a shot jaw, and the screeching pierce of your ears ringing.

Gut pains that made you slouch awkwardly as you try and hold your stance, and the warm-yet-cold, wet sensation of mild internal bleeding.

What kept me going was thinking about The Kid. That tiny little face right there in Mayfeld’s arms kept me alive. It kept my fists up. It kept my feet moving… when I could stay on them… Again and again, I got knocked down. Over and over, I struggled to my feet. I was weakening…

But so was the Trandoshan… tiring badly…. They’re so big, he was started to get winded.

So, I danced. I dodged. I ducked. I moved. Each action getting me one step closer to the third round. I started to recover…

He kept slowing...

…and somehow…

…with an upper cut that took everything I had left…

…I knocked that motherfucking lizard out cold.

But that doesn’t explain how I survived… Because I should have been fed to the Rancor…

You know me. I always win my bets. I win, because I only bet when I _know_ I’m going to win.

Did it ever surprise you that I could understand Chewbacca?

Where the Trandoshans had chosen to align themselves with the Empire in the past, The Wookiees had been allies with the Rebellion. Being a Dropper, I’m sure you know which side of the fence I fall on. It wasn’t with Zee, and it wasn’t with those repulsive reptiles.

I wasn’t after the prize purse, or Zee’s crooked pay off. Ever.

I was betting on myself the whole time.

I’d put the word out through the Wookiees which way the first fight was fixed. Because the bookies caught wind that I was taking a dive, odds on me went through the roof. I made far more betting than I ever would have from the prize purse, or Zee.

So did my Wookiee mates…

And The Kid? The fact Zee had the audacity to threaten him, made me _determined_ to get back at her.

My new friends were more than happy to help. Wookiees hate losing bets and competitions as it is. When they found out Zee was lining the pockets of her Trandoshan buddies with their own credits, they were furious. They wanted their credits back from the lizards, and they wanted _revenge_. Badly. Very badly.

A full scale Wookiee retaliation is a hell of a fucking thing…

As soon as the Trandoshan I was fighting hit the floor, com links across Socorro gave out the word – it was time.

Before Zee could register the fact that she had lost her money again, towering, hairy, blood-thirsty vengeance appeared before her, and everyone she knew. Zee, her entire crew, the Trandoshans, and even the Rancor. All were torn to pieces within a matter of minutes.

At the arena, most of the Wookiees didn’t even bother with weapons and ripped off limbs with their bare hands.

Ground shaking roars. Chunks of flesh flying. Victims momentarily screeching in terror before immediately bleeding out or dying from instantaneous shock. Screaming, running punters, fleeing the arena, slipping through blood and guts as they went.

All around was the wet, thudding sound of bodies hitting the floor.

Then… As quickly as it had started, it was over…

The bookies were all too afraid _not_ to pay up, and we collected big time.

And the jewel in the crown? A few minutes later, I saw him. Curled up in the enormous, warm arms of one of the Wookiees. The Kid… Looking at me with his adorable little face. Cooing and giggling, holding out his tiny arms, wanting to be held and cuddled.

We had won everything.

The fight.

The battle.

The money.

The Kid.

Everything had gone to plan.

***

Cara: It took planning, thought, and good friends to survive. There was only one truly unexpected thing that happened to me the whole four weeks.

Din: What was that?

Cara: Seeing the Razor Crest. Finding you alive. You know how the story goes after that.

Mayfeld: Little tyke must love the sound of your voice, Dune. Look at that… He’s out cold, like your Trandoshan…

Tur: Cough it up, Tin Can.

Din: What? Why?

Tur: He’s safe. He’s our son. I told you, nothing would change after the story.

Mayfeld: Sounds like the Dropper had the whole thing under control the entire time.

Cara: Well, not entirely under control. Then again, everyone’s made mistakes with him. You more than most of us, Din.

Din: I guess that’s true…

Tur: So, pay your debt, bounty hunter.

Din: Shit… I still say you have big mouth...

Tur: You _love_ my big mouth and everything I do with it, and I say _you’re_ still a grumpy motherfucker…

Cara: So absolutely nothing has changed.

***Laughter*****

Mayfeld: Even I’ve stuffed up with The Kid. Remember that time I dropped him on the Crest?

Cara: Now he’s dropped off to sleep…

Din: He’s always exhausted after using the Force, but it’s good for him to use it at home.

Cara: Why? Are you training him?

Din: No. We want him to make positive associations with it. The day he tried to choke you on the Razor Crest woke me up to a few things.

Cara: Frightened the hell out of me.

Din: Hopefully, he will start to associate the Force with family and playtime. He’s been using it in times of stress, and while it’s mostly been to help other people, I don’t believe that’s healthy for a child.

Tur: The control knobs help strengthen the association with Din, the Crest, and this place.

Mayfeld: That’s pretty smart.

Din: We’re making it up as we go along.

Tur: The Kid doesn’t come with a technical read out. Here, Mayfeld. Let me put him down.

Cara: He’ll sleep through anything now. We could blow the cabin up and he wouldn’t flinch.

Din: Another advantage of the home training. We’ll be free to do what we like now without waking him again.

Mayfeld: What a pity! No more flying knives.

Cara: Oh, no way, Din! Is that how you make sure he doesn’t overhear your nightly radio show?

Din: That… that’s just a bonus…

***Laughter*******

Tur: The Kid’s in bed for good now, which means…

***Beeping********

Tur: Time to crack out the good stuff from the lock cabinet…

Cara: Chakta Sai Kae!

Mayfeld: Bring it on, Pirate.

Din: I have a feeling the conversation can only go downhill from here.

Mayfeld: We can only hope, Tin Can.

***Laughter*******


	4. The Stolen Secret

_“If you wish to be the king of the jungle, it’s not enough to act like a king. You must be the king. And there can be no doubt. Because doubt causes chaos and one’s own demise.”_

_\- The Gentlemen (2019)_

***

Tur: Want another pour?

Mayfeld: Nah, I’m good for now. If I keep drinking at this rate, I’m not even going notice the rain on the way back.

Cara: Keeps the cold out at least. I’ll be surprised if you’re still standing by the end of the night, Inky.

Din: She’ll be fine. I’ve seen her take enough drugs to kill a Bantha.

Tur: Had plenty of practice running around the streets of Coronet as a teenager. Unlike you pros, I wasn’t training anything at that age except my liver.

Mayfeld: Yeah, well, we’re not as professional as you’d think. Shit… Both me and the bucket-head ran with the same fucking crew.

Tur: I keep forgetting that.

Mayfeld: One day you’re going tell me the Alzoc III story, Mando.

Din: I’m not proud of the time I spent on Ran’s crew. I don’t like talking about it.

Tur: One day you will.

Din: You think so?

Tur: Eventually you’ll have to forgive yourself for it.

Mayfeld: Ouch! Tur hits back with the riddle talk. You been at the mushrooms again?

Tur: Nah, just the good shit Chewie left me.

Cara: What about you, Red? You ever talk about your days with the crew?

Mayfeld: Sure, I ain’t got nothing to hide, and unlike Tin Can, I’m glad I ended up on Ran’s crew. Got me out of the Empire. Those bastards were worse than any outlaw gang by far.

Cara: Really? Sounds like you’ve got a story.

Din: Let’s have it.

Mayfeld: What you have to understand going into the story is that it wasn’t easy to get out of the Empire. You don’t really leave. They don’t let you. You escape…

***

The Empire are dirty.

And I don’t just mean world-killing, Dark Force using, fascist dirty. I mean _fucking corrupt_.

All the shit they throw everyone else into the slammer for? They’re up to their jack-booted eyeballs in it. Those freaking Death Stars don’t come cheap, I can tell you that. Ask Tin Can about all the beskar they took. How else do you think they fund all the war they wage?

But it’s not just the war funding that was going on.

Half the officers had their own crooked side-lines too. You’d be surprised how much of the Imp’s inventory got sold on the black market. That was the small stuff. Spice running, coaxium smuggling, slave trading, selling intel, and even illegal gambling and whore houses.

You name it, there was an officer somewhere who was trading in it.

What most people don’t understand about the Empire is that it’s really easy to get suckered in, especially as a dumb kid. But those assholes do _not_ let you leave. If you’re gonna get out of that hell, you need to put years of planning into it. Breaking out of prison seems easy by comparison.

Thankfully, I’m not as dumb as I look, and while I was with the Imps, I managed to get myself noticed. Started moving into specialised units. I was never a total specialist, but I was good with a wider range of weapons than most, and that in itself was special in the Empire. Most stupid Troopers only ever do one thing their whole life, and it makes them predictable and slow. 

One day I ended up getting transferred to a security detail that was working for the ISB. Basically, we were bodyguards for the some of the highest-ranking officials in the intelligence game.

The guy that ran that unit was as dirty as they get. We called him ‘The Skull’. Dude was brutal, and up to his eyeballs in illegal trades. One of the biggest players in the Imperial black market, and I ended up working for him.

The Skull had reached his position through a combination of hard-work, and a ruthless reputation on the battlefield. Rumour has it he got his nickname when he crushed someone’s head with his bare hands. And it wasn’t even an enemy. It was one of his fellow recruits in _combat training_.

I know Tur has spoken about Burning Day, and the animals they send out for extermination missions. The Skull made the twelve bastards Tur took out on Corellia look like children. I heard some of his stories, and I’ll tell you that the stuff they did on Burning Day, they consider _fun._

Why they requested me, I’ll never know, but I’ve got a suspicion. It won’t surprise you that I had a smart mouth, even back then. I’d been in trouble more than once. Part of the reason I kept getting transferred. I’d also shown my superiors I could take a beating.

The Skull figured I had a rebellious streak, but I could probably keep my mouth shut, even under punishment. I also had a nice, wide network of top-end connections from all the units I’d served in, and he was itching to get his fingers into it. After a few years, he had me involved in all sorts of illegal shit.

It seemed he liked me, but you never knew with that guy, and I was always (at least at some level) terrified of him. The rest of his squad he used as muscle. They were dumb and savage. Me? He had a very special job for me…

Being the best sharpshooter, and a weapons expert, The Skull had me as _his_ personal security.

I was his bodyguard, his assistant, and his negotiator. I was the one member of his stupid squad who could actually think on their feet and not sound like a fucking Gamorrean when I talked. I ended up making decisions and doing deals on his behalf when it was too small for The Skull to bother with. Helped him make more businesses deals than he could have on his own time.

As his right-hand man, I became indispensable, and I was deep inside the Gundark’s nest.

See, his thirst for power kept growing, and he kept making bigger and bigger deals, wanting more and more business. When you get an organisation like the Empire, it attracts the power hungry. You’d think it would be full of yes-men, but that’s not the case with officers.

They’re ambitious. They’re greedy. They _all_ want to be the Alpha. But you know as well as I do, that there can be only one Emperor at a time. I reckon that’s why there’s only ever two Sith. Stops the apprentices challenging the master.

When you get too many little Jawas taking everything in sight, eventually stuff starts to run out. Spice mines start to dry up. Coaxium supplies run low. The cartels and smugglers they use start to get nervous. Inevitably, the officers involved start fighting over territory.

If the pressure of all that wasn’t enough, the whole time you’ve got a threat hanging over your head. The biggest, most bad-ass threat of them all.

Darth Vader.

That motherfucker was known for Force choking officers out of commission. Almost on a daily basis at one point. The dirty officers in charge of the operations were in continual fear of being busted by the wheezing bastard in black.

As things started heating up across the galaxy with the Rebellion, it wasn’t just the officers getting freaked out. The rest of us started feeling the pressure too. I’d seen things. Things I can never unsee. I’d done things. I’d stood back and let others do things. Honestly, I didn’t know what was more horrific: the black-market shit, or the sanctioned genocide.

I needed out, and ironically it was one of The Skull’s sidelines that gave me a way out.

The boss had decided to sell off his spice operations. I think the grumpy old bastard thought Vader was on to him and was ditching business. One of the brass from the ISB, who was also into spice, started negotiating a deal hoping to monopolise the market.

But when you play in the Sarlacc pit, you’ve got to watch out for the tentacles.

The ISB brass had a junior officer who took a fancy to the top job. When Brass found out the price The Skull wanted for his operation, he decided to get Junior to stir up slave rebellions in the mines to devalue the business.

But Brass wasn’t as smart as he thought. Junior decided paying The Skull for his business was a sucker’s game and thought he might take it for free. Along with the head of his boss. In a huge power play, Junior killed Brass, and took over all the ISB’s black trade.

The Skull wasn’t as stupid as Brass had been. He knew what Junior must have done. There was a big shipment the boss was running as his last hurrah before he got out. Junior and The Skull had each other’s numbers. Shit was about to get messy. Junior got it in his head to knock it off the shipment while it was in transit, and you’ll never guess who he hired to do the job.

Ranzar Malk.

Having Tin Can around had given Ran a pretty good name, even if the Mando was no longer on the team. Let me tell you, Princess, in the underworld – reputation sticks. I’m sure the Mando and the Pirate can tell you all about the damage a good name can do.

‘Ranzar Malk’ had become synonymous with the word ‘Mandalorian’, and Ran was stupid and greedy enough to still be trading on it.

Somehow, they got the job done with nothing more than ruthlessness and sheer numbers. They brought help. Mercs and assorted bounty hunters. Worst scum of the galaxy. Seems you’d rubbed off on them, Din, and not in the best of ways. Qin and Xi’an had always been psychos, but the bucket-head had left a sour taste in their Twi’lek mouths, and they had no problem with who they killed or how much chaos they caused.

The shipment was lost. But Ran had no fucking idea _who_ Junior had paid him to rob.

People were starting to think the The Skull was losing his grip. If he couldn’t handle his own spice, how was he supposed to keep the rest of their dirty trades covered up? My boss always hit back, and hit back hard, but the rumourmongering had made him particularly sensitive. Made him doubt his own capabilities, and he started getting paranoid about being stabbed in the back.

Fortunately for both Ran and The Skull, Qin found out the word, and clued in Ran to who he had just ripped off. Ran did the ballsiest thing I had ever seen, and actually contacted my boss. Apologised for the whole thing and explained that Junior had never told him who he was being paid to hit. Ran returned the spice shipment and offered The Skull his services to repay the debt.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

While it saved Ran’s ass in the short term, he’d just been pulled down into the sink-hole with the rest of us. The Skull was pissed off with Junior and decided the first repayment of the debt would be to get Ran to bump him off as a show of loyalty.

But my boss was just as bad as Junior in keeping his Sabacc cards close to his chest, and once again Ran’s team were missing one piece of critical information: who Junior really was. You’d think Ran would have learnt his fucking lesson the first time.

Junior was the son of one of the Imperial Navy’s top dogs. I don’t know if he was legitimate, because they didn’t share the same name. Maybe the kid was born in one of the dirty brothels owned by the Empire? Maybe his parents were young and stupid teenagers and had their little ‘love mistake’ hidden? Maybe it was just so Junior could make his own way? Who fucking knows?

Junior’s dear old daddy was none other than Firmus Piett.

Now, that name might not mean anything to you, but Piett eventually became the admiral of Vader’s own fucking flagship. The guy was serious business, and right in Sith’s inner circle.

The boss had just rubbed out a serious target, which risked bringing Vader down on our heads. Other officers started to figure out that Ran’s ‘Mando’ had taken off long ago, and the crew wasn’t as good as they had said. It also set off the rest of the greedy officers against each other. The Rebellion was getting stronger, the black market was suffering, and Junior’s death had set them all into a panic.

And if Piett ever found out it was Ran and The Skull that took out his kid… we were all dead.

I must admit, Mando, when we first met… I was suspicious of you because of what Xi’an said about you enjoying it. Shit, I even stuck it to you about getting off on death when you busted me out of jail.

But, Din, you are nothing… nothing compared to The Skull. With no business relationships to have to foster any more, he had a free reign of terror in which he could vent all his self-doubt and paranoia. As far as The Skull was concerned, all his former business partners were now enemies.

The black-market apocalypse was nigh, and in the frenzy, the Rancors stared to eat each other.

And Ran? He was right in the thick of it. Indebted to The Skull and with no way out, his crew were knocking off goods from Imperial officers left, right and centre. Half the time I was working with them on the jobs. And corpses were turning up everywhere.

But the more the Imps panicked and killed, the more they risked the worst threat of all. Piett was still baying for blood. Vader started to figure out not everything was clean in the ISB with all the killing going on, and like everything else in this fucking galaxy, there were digital data trails everywhere linking everything to everyone.

What you’ve gotta remember is, the Empire were still in power and were looking to stay that way. Even though shit was getting brutal with the Rebellion, no one ever thought they would actually succeed.

My plan to get out wasn’t that much different to what we pulled on the Acclamator – copy and destroy data. If I couldn’t obliterate my own tracks, I’d need leverage on all the players. Shit, I’d introduced The Skull to half his network. I had access to the ISB databases, and I knew every detail of every little crooked operation that came within a parsec of the ISB.

The secrets had to be big enough to ensure my survival, and I hit the Canto Bight jackpot in the worst possible way. The secrets I found out were _huge_. Piett. Junior. Even Vader. I found files on _everything._

I had to destroy the database and all my digital tracks, and the only way I could figure out how to do that was with a data virus. I couldn’t just blow shit up like Inky, because I would have been caught and sentenced to death. It was going to have to be done by a hack.

The virus had to be good enough to wipe out the most elite Imperial network in the galaxy, even if only temporarily. I’m no Pirate, but I can pull a pretty decent hack when I want to. Hardware was always more my scene, but when you’re up against the wall, you learn how to do things you never thought were possible before. But it was all new to me, and I couldn’t risk testing it in the network, or I’d be found.

So, I had an untested virus program I had just written, and a data disc of the dirtiest Imperial secrets in existence. But I wasn’t as smart as I thought. Or the ISB network wasn’t as secure as I thought. Or Piett knew more than he let on…. or Darth Vader was just really good with using the Force.

I have no idea what the fuck went wrong, but somehow Vader found out that someone had been stealing ISB data. What’s worse, in the investigation, he found out all about The Skull and every other corrupt bastard in the Empire.

I hadn’t had a chance to deploy my virus yet. All I wanted was a way out, but I had just signed my own death warrant.

Cross The Skull, and he will make you beg for death.

The closer you are to him, the bigger he considered the betrayal. You think Pirates are hell bent on revenge with that ‘blood for blood’ shit? The Skull never just got revenge. He made an example out of you, and he enjoyed taking his time to torture you in the most savage ways imaginable. That guy not only played with his food before eating it, he fed it, walked it, washed it, and tucked it into fucking bed.

One morning, I went to see the boss. He’d asked me to meet me in the ship’s hangar.

When I walked in, I immediately knew something was wrong. Ran and his crew were there, and I didn’t know about it. I was supposed to be watching The Skull’s back as his bodyguard, and the fact he had a meeting without me, set off the alarm bells.

I stopped in my tracks the minute I saw them all standing at the other end of the hangar. They all looked up at once, including my boss, and I knew when I looked in his eyes, that he had contracted Ran to torture and kill me.

I ran. It wasn’t brave, and it wasn’t even smart – I was stuck on an Empire ship that my boss knew every fucking inch of. Where was I going to go? There was nowhere to even hide. I ran, and I prayed to no one in particular that something, or someone, would save me.

Someone did save me. Vader.

Him and Piett had come for The Skull. Now, you’d think the Sith Lord coming for us would have made matters worse, but I was actually _saved_ by Darth Vader’s attack. I never saw their Star Destroyer. Our ship just started taking fire. The next thing I knew we had to evacuate. Stuff was blowing up. Imps running everywhere. Sirens. Fire. Panic. Screaming. Everyone running for the escape pods. Including me.

There I was running down the hallway. This was my chance – in the chaos I could get away, and if Vader kept up his barrage, it’d get The Skull off my tail.

Running…

Thinking I was finally going to be free…

I was almost there…

And then…

The Skull.

Right in front of me. I knew I couldn’t win. I was about to die.

It was almost like time stopped and everything went quiet. To this day I couldn’t tell you why I did it. I was just acting on instinct. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a disc.

The disc with the virus I had been working on.

I started talking off the top of my head, saying it was the disc with stolen data. I was giving it to him as insurance. Told him the only reason Darth Vader was so mad about it, was that it contained all his dirty little secrets, and the only reason I had taken it was so that we had a way to get back at Palpatine’s right-hand man for crushing our business.

I told him that if he saw what was on this disc, it would immediately put both Piett and Vader out of commission.

I told The Skull he’d be _the most powerful man in the Empire_.

My smart mouth saved my life that day. He took the disc, and was staring at it in his hand, like I had just handed him the fucking keys to the entire galaxy. Even at the end, the lure of power still held him. Power over Darth Vader.

With all the shit coming down around his ears, that lunatic must have thought that little disc could turn it all around to his advantage. Probably thought _he_ could be the next Vader. I swear I could see it in his eyes. The Skull and The Emperor, together.

Next to the tantalising secrets on the disc, killing and torturing me mustn’t have seemed important anymore.

And just like that…

The crazy bastard turned around and walked away without another word.

The ship was still going down.

I should have headed to the escape pods. I should have followed procedure. But my instincts had already saved me once, and I was on a roll. One name popped into my head: Ranzar Malk.

With his dirty sidelines scuppered, and no Mando name to trade on anymore, Ran was just as screwed as I was. He’d pissed off as many Imps as I had, and I knew his days of living large were over.

Perhaps he could use an experienced Triggerman on his crew?

Against all better logic, I headed back into the hangar, and ran for Ran’s ship…

***

Cara: Well?

Mayfeld: Well what?

Cara: Did the virus work?

Mayfeld: I probably wouldn’t be here if it didn’t. I knew my boss couldn’t resist sticking that disc of mine in a drive to find out whatever it was he thought I’d uncovered about the big man in black.

Din: What happened?

Mayfeld: The virus must have scrambled the network at least long enough for me to escape and stay hidden. The only proof I have is that they never came after me, and I never turned up on the Guild’s radar.

Cara: What about your boss?

Mayfeld: I guess Vader must have killed The Skull. I didn’t try and find out. I escaped. That was enough.

Tur: Hang on a minute… What did happen to the data disc? The real one with the secrets you stole…

***Silence*********

Cara: _You’ve still got it?!_

Tur: Holy fucking Hondo!

Cara: Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know…

Tur: Mate, you’re a _fucking genius_ , with balls the size of Yavin.

Cara: Actually, I do want to know…

Mayfeld: You know what, Din? I reckon Xi’an answered this question the best once on the Razor Crest.

Din: How so?

Mayfeld: ‘A lady never tells’…

***Laughter********


	5. The Retirement Fund

“ _Right, let’s sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don’t.”_

_\- Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998)_

***

Tur: Another log in the stove should do it for a while. How’re you three holding up?

Cara: Just fine. It’s warm in here.

Mayfeld: Listen to that storm still going. It’s going to be a shitty walk back to the junk hotel.

Cara: Hey, where are the hounds? I’m surprised they’re not inside, the way you spoil them. Won’t they freeze?

Tur: They’re fine. Asleep in the crawl space under the cabin. I found out they like to sleep near the footing that supports the stove because it’s warm. I built out the space into a small shelter since they seemed to like it so much – you know, something more comfortable with some bedding. They’re big, tough brutes… but I do worry about them.

Din: I’m glad you don’t let them in. They’d tear the place down in their excitement.

Tur: I tried to get them inside recently, but it seems they prefer to sleep in their own beds.

Cara: Having your own bed is a strange concept for me.

Tur: You didn’t settle down in your retirement?

Cara: No, I kept moving. Heat was too much.

Mayfeld: Yeah, not everyone finds a moon to hide on.

Cara: What I’ve always wanted to know, Tur, is why you went into hiding in the first place. Why did you stop being a War Dog?

Tur: Oh shit, _that_ story.

Din: That’s a good one.

Mayfeld: If it’s so good, let’s have it, ink-head.

Cara: You’ve got that ‘crazy Corellian’ look on your face already, Dog.

Din: Time to turn them over or fold, Pirate.

***Laughter*******

Tur: OK! OK! This all really comes down to my dear brother, and a pack of Niktos that took him hostage. It happened a couple of years back, right in the last weeks before the Empire fell…

***

“Ink at a price” as we say.

Dog Tooth Clan has got a reputation in some circles, and Bera is the most notorious motherfucker of us all. Not only has he got more ink than any of us, but as the Clan Leader, his life’s worth more than all of ours combined.

The Clan Head is the single most important piece on the dejarik board. Once you get your hands on the Head, the whole Clan will bow to you, and the game is over.

My brother knows this, and he’s managed to keep himself out of the hands of our enemies for years. Particularly the cartels because he refused to do business with them. Hundteths don’t get involved with spice running, and never have.

However, being the best Corellian bastards ever to handle a ship’s stick, Bera’s Dogs caught the attention of people we’d rather not deal with. Hutt Cartel? Bera made it Clan law never to do business with those greasy shit stains. They were far too dangerous, and at the time, were far too powerful.

But when the Hutts want you, you don’t often have a say in the bloody matter. If Bera wasn’t willing to do business with Jabba, the cartel were just going to take their profits out of him anyway.

One day, Bera got ambushed, and was kidnapped by a bunch of Niktos for ransom. Being second in command, it was up to me to negotiate his release.

Bera ends up on Tatooine, and I got a message with Jabba’s incredibly pricey list of demands. He gives me three days to cough up the payment. If I didn’t… well, I can’t even imagine what would happen to my brother, let alone me and the rest of the Clan.

When you owe the Hutts, _you pay what you owe_.

If you don’t, you die, or you’re in their pocket forever. I don’t think the fat bastard expected me to actually pay. I think he _wanted_ me to fail. Having the Clan in his cartel’s back pocket? He would have put us to all sorts of terrible uses.

But somehow, I manage to get the credits and cargo he wants together, and I send a message back telling him to arrange the meet.

Little did I know, but the fucking Niktos who took Bera didn’t keep it quiet, and while I’m pulling together the ransom, word spread around the bloody Outer Rim that Jabba the Hutt had finally got his dirty little hands on the Corellian bad-ass.

There were a lot of people around the galaxy interested in that little rumour. Bera wasn’t just being hunted by the Hutts. Warbird outlaws were after him, to try and strong arm the Clan about something. I can’t even remember what now. Bounty Guild wanted him for different reasons. Empire too.

Co-ordinates come through from Jabba, and the tubby fucker tells me he’s coming to make the exchange himself.

Now, I know this means he’s going to bring his full security detail and I’m going to have to watch how I behave, because the cranky asshole had an explosive temper. I can’t afford to fuck this up, or else Jabba will own the Clan, and one of my own Dogs would (as Mayfeld would say) uncork my chest and chug me down.

So, shitting myself and hoping I don’t get us all killed, I grab twenty of my best Dogs and get moving.

Like a good little sister, I go to Castilon (of all fucking places) for the trade, on the edge of Wild Space. Me in the Triv, and the Dogs and the ransom on Bera’s own ship, which happened to be part of Jabba’s demands.

I meet Jabba on a dinky little island, just big enough to land the three ships on. It looks great – sand, and sun and ocean. I’m secretly glad it’s so hot out, because I’m already sweating like a bastard with nerves. I put on my best business face and give the colossal wanker a smile. He calls for his interpreter droid, and we start negotiating Bera’s release. His goons go to check the payment is all there, while I make small talk.

Now, Jabba had a reputation for being ruthless and greedy, but the giant grub wasn’t too bright. The Warbirds must have had some quarrel with him, probably because they’d been doing work for the Empire. By meeting on Castilon, Jabba had walked right into their territory like the arrogant slug that he was, with a secondary prize that the Warbirds wanted very badly in the form of my brother.

Well, that started a whole chain of interested parties making their way to Castilon. The Bounty Guild got wind of the fact that three criminal factions, including the notorious Hutts, would be all in the same place at the same time. And then… the Empire caught on...

In the space of about fifteen fucking minutes, everyone dropped out of hyperspace, and shit went crazy.

Thankfully, the island was too tiny for anyone to land another ship on, and most players who came to sit at the Sabacc table were hoping to catch their quarries alive.

The Warbirds turned up first and landed on a neighbouring island. Immediately, com links start going off all over the place, as they blast out their demands. Well, Jabba didn’t like it one bit, and was waving his flabby little arms around, and bellowing like a fucking lunatic. The protocol droid is trying to repeat everything Jabba says, I’m trying to get everyone to calm the fuck down, and the Warbirds are threatening us with their ion cannons from across the water.

That was short lived, because ten Guild member ships showed up, and the Warbirds were now as worried as the rest of us. But the bounty hunters had just as much trouble trying to land their ships. As they finally set down on islands around the horizon, the whole com network was jammed with demands and swearing in about six different languages.

Seems the Guild members didn’t want to work together, and everyone thought they had the claim first. I don’t know how many tracking fobs those idiots hand out, but the Guild were so busy arguing, they didn’t notice when another one of Jabba’s ships appeared. It started firing on them from the air.

Well, that set the Warbirds off, and they started firing at the Hutt ship for some reason. Right then, two Dog ships turned up. Our contingency plan. They weren’t about to risk the trade for Bera, so they started dropping heavy artillery on the Warbirds.

Everyone was firing at everyone, except for us. Somehow the tiny island is sitting calmly in the middle of all the gunfire. Jabba, Bera and I were watching the chaos unfold, with the sound of everyone still screeching over the com link.

But that wasn’t the end of it either. The Empire turned up and decided to blow us all to hell. Heavy ion fire started coming out of the upper atmosphere, and the ocean started exploding all around us.

That was it. Everyone legged it.

Jabba was gone immediately like the fat coward that he was, and in his panic had left Bera still standing there in restraints. I grabbed my brother and head for the Triv, and the boys started for Bera’s ship.

Just when I think things can’t get any worse, Boba Fett appears.

Unlike the other bounty hunters who were stuck with their ships, Boba used his jetpack to get across the water. But rather than try and run us in, or kill us, Fett beat my boys to Bera’s ship and stole the entire fucking ransom!

Shit still exploding around our ears, we all make it to the Triv, and I got us out of there just in time to avoid the Imps.

We were alive, but I was _freaking the fuck out._

I knew Jabba would be furious because he had no ransom, no Bera, and would probably think I’d set the whole thing up. He no doubt got his damned protocol droid to record everything that went on, leaving a nice little evidence trail that would incriminate just about everyone.

I’d lost Bera’s ship, and the ransom, so the Clan was completely broke. I knew the Warbirds would be angry, and the prices on our heads with the Guild would soar. We’d also managed to slip away from the Empire again (which always infuriates them).

I don’t believe in luck, but there’s been a few times in my life where I’ve been close to believing.

Turned out Boba Fett was working for Jabba, not the Guild, and delivered Bera’s ship to him. Jabba admitted he made the mistake of leaving Bera behind, so the Hutts figured I wasn’t trying to sucker them out of paying. Jabba blamed his protocol droid for the argument with the Warbirds and had him disintegrated, wiping any record of the incident if it ever existed.

Hutt was still angry with Bera and me, but not long after, he captured Han Solo. Apparently, the big grub had a thing for collecting the heads of Corellian pilots. Han and his missus killed the slave-trading fucker, so the problem resolved itself. Right on the slug’s own sail barge. Fett went into the Sarlacc pit the same day, so he was off our list of worries too.

None of the bounty hunters made it off Castilon alive, thanks to the Empire’s barrage, and all the tracking fobs got cooked. The Warbirds were in with the Empire, so they went quiet, and of course the Empire itself took a giant nosedive soon after.

So, the Hundteths seemed to be off the hook with just about everybody, because just about everybody was dead.

The only exception was me. Since the Bounty Guild knew I was meeting Hutt, all ten Guild member deaths got pinned on me. The Guild wanted a scapegoat, and they weren’t willing to compromise their operation on Tatooine by pointing fingers at the Hutts, even if the cartel was on their last legs.

Well, the price on my head was astronomical, and I kept bringing heat down on the Clan. I knew it was time to disappear. I faked my death in front of a Guild member, hoping that they would cancel the bounty. Blowing up a ship is an easy way to make someone think you just died.

But rather than void the puck, the sneaky Guild member claimed the bounty as his own. Mine was a dead or alive commission. Followed him to a local cantina and paid the bartender to slip him something strong. Next thing you know he’s asleep on the bar, and I’m picking his pocket.

Since the price on my head was so high, even as a dead bounty, it was a nice little score. Technically I was responsible for my own ‘death’, so I felt the money should be mine. At any rate, I had to try and make up for the fact I’d sent the Clan broke.

But in another stroke of good fortune, that problem got sorted out too.

One of the boys somehow came back from Tatooine with Bera’s ship, still loaded with cargo. He went to find out the word with the Guild and the Hutts, and in the chaos that was brewing there, everyone had forgotten about the cargo, so he lifted the ship without anyone knowing who did it.

So, we had Bera. There were no more Hutts to worry about, no Fett, no record of the incident, and no financial losses for the Clan. The Guild was off everyone’s back, the Empire was gone, and the Warbirds no longer gave a shit. No one was looking for me anymore, and I was now fully funded and ready to face retirement.

Assuming I could keep my survival a secret from the Guild, I had all the freedom I’d ever need.

***

Tur: But that was the catch – _assuming I kept my survival a secret_. With the mopping up action going on after the Empire, the galaxy was infested with bounty hunters who would kill me in a heartbeat - not only for the credits, but because I had allegedly knocked off their colleagues. If they found out I was alive, I wouldn’t stay that way for long. I was stuck here. But it gave me plenty of time to start building this place. There was a lot to learn, and a lot to do.

Mayfeld: A lot to do? Here? With no one around?

Tur: Nearly everything you see on this moon, I built by hand. Everything from blasting out the mountain rock to build the hangar, to ensuring the cabin had water and power. I had to learn everything about this new world, too. The wildlife, the plants, the climate…

Cara: Thinking about it, it must have been busy. I didn’t realise moving to a new home could be so involved. I normally stick to a backwater and lay low.

Tur: Better than Din’s move to a new world. Total culture shock as a kid when he moved to Mandalore. New people, new language, new culture. All as a child. A little hard work in the wilderness seems easy by comparison.

Din: I had the Fighting Corp to help me through those days. You had no one.

Tur: Being alone wasn’t the worst of it.

Din: What was worse? That’s all you’ve ever told me of the story.

Tur: That’s because you know the worst part already.

Din: I do?

Tur: After everything I’d built and worked for to make this place a home, some fucking idiot crashed into my ship, wrecked everything I owned, nearly got me killed by an Akk Dog, broke my heart, pissed off Bera, cost the Clan a ton of money, and brought me out of hiding. Bloody Guild member and everything…

***Laughter************

Cara: After all that, I don’t know why you married him. He’s more of a hassle than The Kid.

Tur: I survived, and the steel was worth the price.

Mayfeld: Still seems like a raw deal. No offence, Din.

Din: None taken. It was necessary, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t brutal, and I certainly didn’t feel good about it.

Cara: I guess... Even when you told me about it, that day on the Crest when you picked me up, I didn’t take into account how _you_ felt about it. I was too busy feeling sorry for Tur at that point in the story.

Din: It was horrible watching her go through it. When Bera told me what happened…

Tur: It’s OK. You can say it.

Din: I’m glad you didn’t die. I’m also glad you didn’t kill me afterwards...

***Laughter*******

Tur: You’re lucky I left my blade inside. Still, I know you _let me_ punch you. Thanks, Beskar.

Din: I should have stopped you sooner. Your right hook is spicy.

Mayfeld: He probably enjoyed it.

Cara: You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Dura-jaw?

***Laughter*******

Din: I’m surprised you didn’t break your hand.

Tur: Good thing the first swing with the right missed, and it was the left that connected…

Cara: Why? What happened?

Mayfeld: Oh, I see where this is going…

Tur: Yeah, I know, it was dumb… but I was _so angry_ , and I just forgot…

Mayfeld: That’s pretty stupid…

Din: For once, I thinking its Cara missing the picture. Go on, Pirate. Tell her what you did in your blind rage.

Tur: I… tried to punch him in the face.

***Laughter*********************

Cara: You punched him in the helmet? That _was_ pretty stupid.

Tur: I’d just kind of gotten used to it being his face, you know? I wasn’t thinking about anything except making him pay.

Mayfeld: Blood for blood, huh?

Din: When she loses her temper, she does it the Pirate way – to the full extent of her capabilities.

Tur: _Pride in endeavour_ , and _stupidity in anger_.

***Laughter***********


	6. The Dirty Showdown

_“My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit hole than I had intended, and though I dirtied my fluffy white tail, I have emerged, enlightened.”_

_\- Sherlock Holmes (2009)_

***

Din: You never got to the third thing, Mayfeld. The third lesson you learnt the day The Kid took my helmet on the Triv.

Cara: Din, how do even keep track of this stuff?

Tur: Even when he’s drunk, he’s got a mind like a Jedi. Bastard…

Mayfeld: That was nothing important, Mando. I was just going to say I learnt what a panicky little bitch you are.

***Laughter********

Din: Shut up.

Cara: It’s OK. We get it. But just because we understand, doesn’t make it any less funny. Half the stuff we laugh about wasn’t funny at the time.

Mayfeld: Yeah, Tin Can. Carbon freeze was a real hoot. Had me on the fucking vac tube all night.

***Laughter*********

Tur: Fuck, the look on your frozen face was priceless! You looked like a slapped Toydarian! I was going to draw it, but every time I tried, I was shaking with laughter.

Cara: I swear you stood in front of that thing and laughed for a good fifteen minutes straight.

Tur: Well, I did hate him at the time.

Din: Didn’t we all?

***Laughter********

Mayfeld: It was worth it for Razor Crest Radio.

Tur: Ooooh! Fightin’ words! What about the beating? Was that worth it?

Mayfeld: Shit yeah! Mando punches like a child compared to Princess.

***Laughter********

Cara: I couldn’t believe you did that to them, Mayfeld. And I still can’t believe you did that to _me_ , Djarin, you dirty bastard.

Din: You shouldn’t be throwing out the word ‘dirty’ here, _Princess._

Mayfeld: Listen, Wampa, you two have the dirtiest mouths by far.

Tur: Yeah, but you’re into way more fucked up shit. The Mayfeld-Dune edition was filthy.

Mayfeld: Tur, you used it as _background music!_ Who’s more fucked up?

Din: Definitely you.

Mayfeld: You wanna bet, Bucket Brain?

Tur: (Oh shit…)

Din: As a matter of fact, I do.

Cara: (Here it comes…)

Mayfeld: Yeah? Let me see what the transcript says…

***Paper rustling************

Tur: (I’ve got twenty on Din…)

Cara: (You’re on…)

Din: Two can play that game.

***Paper rustling************

Tur: (I knew it…)

Cara: (This will be good…)

Mayfeld: Oh yeah, here’s a good one from you, Tin Can… ‘Woman, you could suck out an airlock’.

***Laughter********

Cara: Classy, Din!

Din: OK. Dune says ‘Remember, the safety word is Porg’. Then he says ‘I love the way you say Porg. It sounds so hot’.

***Laughter*************

Tur: There’s so much wrong with that, it’s brilliant!

Mayfeld: Right, you’re next, whore bag… this is nice - ‘Ease up, big man. Your Akk Dog is trying to get past the wall’.

***Laughter**********

Din: How about… ‘Get in there, Red. I’m going to thigh-crush that dumb look off your face’.

***Laughter***********

Tur: Yes!

Cara: Let’s go, Mayfeld! I got credits riding on this.

Mayfeld: OK. OK… ‘Beskar, you’ve got a tongue like a fucking Gungan.’ After that it’s Din making Wampa noises, and Tur yelling out random swear words… in Basic, Corellian, _and Mando’a_..

***Laughter**********

Mayfeld: Geez, Inky, did you just learn all the curse words first?

Din: It was the only way to get her interested.

***Laughter*****

Cara: This is getting good.

Tur: Worth the credits.

Din: My turn. He says ‘Easy, baby, you’re going to put my hip out.’ to which she says ‘Do you want to be broken or not, little man?’ and he responds ‘Yes, Princess. I will obey’.

***Laughter*********

Mayfeld: She says ‘Get the restraints’… which he does… Then he says ‘I’m going to make your pay for all your crimes, you low-life skrag’ to which she replies ‘If you want it, bounty hunter, you’ll have to take it by force’. There’s about ten minutes of him grunting and her moaning, then we get the classic line ‘Fuck yeah, Pirate. I’m going to collect on your puck’.

***Laughter*********

Tur: Average! C’mon, Beskar… you got this…

Din: I’ll let you guess which one of them said this.

Cara: Oooh! Challenge round!

Din: Who said ‘Pretend you’re a Jawa with an egg, and put _all_ of your fingers inside me’?

Tur: _Please tell me it was Mayfeld!_

***Laughter******************

Mayfeld: Fuck you! She says ‘Try not to break the skin.’ to which he says ‘That’s not what these scars on your shoulders are telling me’, so she tells him to ‘…bite me like a War Dog’ and he _growls at her_.

***Laughter*************************

Cara: That might be a winner!

Tur: No way! Don’t let me down, Din. Twenty credits.

Din: He says ‘Wipe me out like the Imp that I am’ to which she replies ‘Shut up, you little creep’ and proceeds to punch him in the mouth, to which he responds ‘Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff’. She slaps him and says ‘What do you say, Rusty?’ and he says ‘Please goddess, make me beg for your pain.’

***Laughter**************************************

Tur: Wooooo! The Mando is back in the game!

Mayfeld: OK, here’s a little quiz…

Cara: Make it a good one, Mayfeld!

Mayfeld: Trust me, Dune. This is your fucking winner right here… Which one of the freaks said ‘Harder. Harder. Fuck me harder. Yeah, now grab my hair and pull.’

Tur: You bombed, Triggerman. That’s real ordinary, and it was me who said it.

Cara: Yeah, Tur, of course.

Mayfeld: You think?

Din: It was me.

***Silence****

***Laughter**************

Cara: Are you serious?

Tur: It sounds like something I’d say?

Din: I’m sure it’s me?

Cara: Who said it, Mayfeld?

Mayfeld: It was a trick question – they both said it, at two totally different points.

Cara: What?!

Mayfeld: Almost word for fucking word…. Here, look…

***Paper rustling***********

Cara: It’s true!

***Laughter******************************

Cara: That’s gotta be a winner! Cough it up, Pirate!

Tur: Shit! Dropper wins again… Doesn’t matter. It was Din’s twenty anyway.

***Laughter*********

Mayfeld: So… the big, bad Mando likes to get his hair pulled like a little girl?

Cara: Rusty, it’s nowhere near as weird as the stuff you like.

Tur: I’m not surprised. Anything to do with the face and head, he goes crazy for. You should see what happens when I suck his earlobes. The noises he makes are incredible.

Cara: Really?

Din: I’m… sensitive.

Mayfeld: What?!! That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard! Are you going to start crying and sharing your feelings, Mando?

Tur: He means physically sensitive, you jerk, not emotionally. Years under the helmet. Nothing ever touching his face.

Din: Not since I was a child.

Tur: I’d want to stick my face in _everything_ if it was me. Which, of course, he does.

Din: I can’t get enough kissing, either. It seems juvenile, but it’s still a novelty.

Mayfeld: That’s why you turned into a Wampa?

Cara: It actually makes a lot of sense when you think about your circumstances.

Din: When I was younger, all I wanted to do with my life was rub my face in a woman’s chest.

***Laughter********

Mayfeld: I didn’t think about that. Your youth must’ve been a real nightmare.

Din: I feel like I’m making up for it all in one hit. There’s been a lot of things I’ve done recently which have been completely foreign to me. Little things like drinking in company.

Tur: Having someone wash your hair for you. Do you remember that?

Din: How can I forget?

Cara: Sounds like you really enjoyed it.

Tur: I’ve never seen anyone look so contented. I thought he was going to start drooling when I massaged his scalp.

Mayfeld: His blaster was probably set to kill the whole time.

Din: I think it was.

***Laughter********

Din: You laugh, but sometimes my mind still has trouble processing that much sensory information.

Cara: It would be a little bit like reverting to puberty, I guess.

Din: Correct. Right here in this kitchen, I took my helmet off in front of Tur, and looked her in the eye. She touched my face, ran her fingers through my hair, and kissed me. Basic stuff for you. But it was all completely new to me, and it happened in the space of a few minutes. I thought my head would break.

Cara: I thought you taking off the helmet for a woman would be some grand romantic moment, like people tell in the great tales. But it seemed awkward and a little sad when you told me about it.

Din: It was everything at once.

Tur: Happy, sad, frightening, awkward, jarring, exciting… painful… cathartic….

Din: I didn’t know what to make of it.

Tur: Me neither.

***Silence******

Cara: That shot the mood down.

Din: I don’t think so. I was just sitting here smiling about it. That was a great day.

Tur: Yeah, it was. It’s funny, I was more excited about seeing your face, than…

Din: You’d already seen that.

***Laughter*******

Cara: Told you he shows it to the whole galaxy.

***Laughter*******

Mayfeld: You two are weird. This is ironically the most romance I’ve ever seen out of either of you.

Din: Mandalorians don’t display affection in public. Neither do Pirates.

Tur: Seen as undignified. Bear in mind, love and sex are two different things to Old Clan. It’s why some have… let’s just say their marriage arrangements are less than traditional. Sex is seen as relatively unimportant and ‘each’s own master’, but love is considered private and sacred.

Mayfeld: Is that why you didn’t care about Razor Crest Radio? Shit. Now it makes sense why Tin Can tried to kill me, but you just laughed.

Cara: I guess your time alone is really important? You know, to say what needs to be said… as well as everything else.

Tur: Sometimes it’s just nice to see his facial expressions while we talk.

Din: There are many reasons why it’s important, including the fact that life is short and dangerous.

Mayfeld: Makes me feel like a dick for complaining about being kicked off the Trivium.

Tur: You _are_ a dick, Mayfeld, and you always will be. But at least, you’re _our_ dick now.

***Laughter**********


	7. The Good Night

_“Brace yourself, we’re about to be violated.”_

_\- Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011)_

***

Cara: Well, speaking of being kicked off the Trivium, it’s getting late. We should get back to the junk hotel.

Din: You don’t have to.

Tur: Stay if you want.

Cara: No, it’s late…

Din: Cara, we’re fine.

Tur: _Ahahahaaa!_

Mayfeld: What’s gotten into you?

Cara: Shut up, Pirate…

Tur: That’s it, isn’t it, Dune?

Cara: Do you have to?

Mayfeld: What? What am I missing?

Tur: Right now, you’re missing round two. _That’s_ why she wants to hit the hotel - she’s hornier than an Ewok in the mating season. Reckon the Porg talk did the trick.

Mayfeld: In that case, I’m gone. Goodnight.

***Laughter******

Cara: We can resume this tomorrow. Like you said, we’re taking a break. Live while you’re alive, right?

***Movement. Footsteps***************

Tur: The woman learns fast.

***Movement. Footsteps**************

Mayfeld: Time to face the storm…

Din: Sleep late. Dream easy.

Cara: Same to you.

***Bolt scraping****

***Door opening****

***WIND AND RAIN*******************

***Footsteps. Movement***********

***WIND AND RAIN*******************

Tur: ‘Night!

***Door closing*****

***Bolt scraping****

Tur: Shit! Don’t sneak up on me like that! How… how did you get the lid off so fast?

Din: Come here, Tauntaun…

***Kissing********

Din: Did you get what you were after?...

***Kissing********

Tur: Not yet, but I think I’m about to…

***Kissing********

Din: I meant the recording…

***Kissing********

Tur: Maybe…

***Kissing********

Tur: Well, Mando. You just had dinner with guests. Without your armour. You OK? How do you feel?

Din: Jatne manda. _*Translation: ‘At one with clan and life’*_

Tur: Good.

Din: And you mean ‘I watched the three of you have dinner’.

Tur: You had some broth from your cup. Soup counts.

Din: Taking me under the ship again?

Tur: You’d do the same for me. You always make good on your debts, bounty hunter.

Din: Now I know how you saved my life the first time, I’m not sure I could repay that particular favour.

Tur: Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman. * _Translation: A friend in danger (need), is a true friend*_

***Kissing********

Din: I love it when you try to speak Mando’a…

***Kissing********

Din: Chaavla sa shebs be'striili… * _Translation: Rough as a strill’s backside…*_

***Kissing********

Tur: Copaani mirshmure'cye, cyar’ika? _*Translation: Are you looking for a smack in the face, darling?*_

Din: Much better.

Tur: This will get your mind off Mando’a…

***Scratching********

Din: Oh, yeah…. that’s so good….

***Scratching*******************

Din: Yeah, behind the ears….

***Scratching*******************

Tur: Helmet hair really gets to you, huh?

Din: I have other itches which need scratching. Badly…

***Kissing. Movement*************

Din: I think…

***Kissing. Movement*************************

Din: …it might be time to collect…

***Movement*************

Din: Right here. _Right now._

***THUMP*****

***Movement************

Tur: Hope the table holds up.

Din: I’ll be disappointed if it does.

***Kissing. Movement*********************************************

Tur: Want to get the restraints?

Din: No…

***Movement*****************

Din: Putting you in cuffs….

***Breathing. Movement**************

Din: …would be a complete waste…

***Breathing. Movement**************

Din: …of your amazing hands….

***Heavy Breathing. Movement***********************************************

(Yeah, now grab my hair and pull...)

***

**Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please hit the kudos button below to let me know.**


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